


Identical

by storygatherer (zetsubou69)



Category: Jrock, the GazettE, 摩天楼オペラ | Matenrou Opera
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-05 04:47:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17912285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zetsubou69/pseuds/storygatherer
Summary: Time makes things and relationships ugly. Or maybe, it's the circumstances.





	1. I.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted: March 2012

Beginnings are always the same. They are always the same, always the easiest, and always the prettiest. Time makes things and relationships ugly. Or maybe the circumstances do. Uruha does not know. Sometimes he thinks he doesn’t even want to know anything.

He merely wants the beginning to make his heart beat faster again.

 

***

 

All bars and clubs get identical at some hour. Handsome men and pretty women, most of them young, all of them drunk. Single or taken or dancing with friends or making out with someone they have just picked up right here.

Just like him.

He walks past a few chicks and no less beautiful guys. He's searching. Searching for the right one for tonight.

 

***

 

That blond is petite, (though, almost everyone is, compared to him) drunk to the point he's actually meowing at him, although it's not that much, as he still manages to walk perfectly straight. Maybe it's just his nature, his attempts to be cute.

"Looking for a company for this night?" Uruha is asked straightforwardly.

"Yes," he nods, taken aback by the sudden request.

The more he's surprised to find out his company is neither a host nor hooker.

Big eyes and plushy lips smile at him as the petite young man takes his hand.

"Let's go for a drink first."

 

***

 

His hair smells of jasmine and coconut, Uruha learns during one slow dance, burying his face in blond curls. The cutie is more than happy to cuddle like a kitten, slip his hands into Uruha's back pockets shamelessly, or to tease him mercilessly with his hips.

"My apartment or yours?"

Through the semi-see-through fabric Uruha, watches pale chest rise and fall steadily

Blond kitten kisses his neck.

"Mine."

 

***

 

The taxi driver kept driving in silence, although he realized it had been two males making out on his back seat. Blond's apartment was close, they almost didn't bother to close the door. Almost, luckily.

Jackets fall to the floor as they kiss feverishly.

His skin smells of perfume and Uruha can't get enough of it, because it's so different from what he's used to smelling in his bedroom, so beautiful (and no, stop over-thinking it, man, you've got someone else beneath you right now).

 

***

 

"Ayame," smaller of them whispers before guitarist manages to strip him off his shorts he almost mistook for a skirt back in the club.

"Uruha," he replies, kicking off his own pants (unlike the younger, he hates showing off his thighs, but that will maybe come with age to the other one too).

Well, that's it for introducing themselves to each other.

The skin on the inner side of Ayame's thighs tastes of sweat. The blond moans.

 

***

 

Uruha has been always the one to choose someone submissive for a one night stand, somebody to bottom for him, so he's taken aback by Ayame's sudden movements.

 

***

 

Instead of trying to fuck him, Ayame rides him.

Uruha thinks he hasn't seen anything this hot quite a while.

His body agrees very much, as he pushes up his hips.

 

***

 

He whines.

Whimpers.

Moans.

Whispers Uruha's name.

Simply enjoys the moment.

Face buried into the pillow, Ayame struggles not to come.

Not yet.

He likes the weight of the body on top of him, strong hands holding his hips.

And Uruha loves the control he has over him.

 

***

 

Blond lies spent on stained sheets, too lazy to move and Uruha gets up and checks his pant pockets. He finds his mobile phone and thanks God, there's no missed call. He puts the cell back and grabs cigarettes and a lighter.

"I'll just go to the balcony to have a smoke," he says to Ayame.

The blond just nods.

 

***

 

"Thanks," one of them whispers later the night, when they meet in the shower, do some lazy making out. Realizing it's almost morning again and they haven't slept a bit, they sip their coffee wordlessly, curled up against each other.

 

***

 

Ayame slowly counts. First minute. Then second. One hundred and forty-five ticks of his alarm clock and Uruha leans in for another kiss.

By the time he’s aware of the twenty-second minute Uruha starts dressing up again.

There’s a peck on a cheek and an awkward giggle. Uruha remembers himself giggling exactly the same years ago.

Thirty-five minutes.

In his palm Uruha finds a small piece of paper with a phone number on it.

"Call me if you want to repeat this."

"Thanks," Uruha just nods, a grin plastered on his face.

Forty-one minutes.

The door clicks and Ayame goes out to the balcony for a smoke.

Finally alone.

 

***

 

Two weeks have passed since guitarist closed the door behind himself. Ayame considered him a lovely one-night stand, but no one important. There's too much work to do and other things to worry about, rather than thinking about one man, right?

But nights are cold and lonely. That's how he finds himself in arms of somebody new, eyes wandering over the dance floor, searching for a familiar face.

When he finds it, unfamiliar arms around him disappear as he goes straight towards the more promising man.

 

***

 

"Kouyou..."

Names. Their nights together consist of names. Moans. Whispers. Silenced in clothes and kisses.

"Aya..."

Names they have carved into each other's skin with their nails or fingertips.

"You fucker, you gave me another hickey!"

Names they give each other when nothing else is fitting.

Ayame does not care about what his neighbours at this apartment house may think about the names he calls Uruha at night, about their moans or creaking of bed. Every other night he proves himself how selfish he can be, but he does not regret a thing.


	2. II.

The clock is ticking, the time flows and nobody really notices it. Days turn into nights and nights are spent with different people or alone.

It’s been some time. It’s always some time, then a call, then Uruha brings dinner, they eat, they fuck, and then one of them goes for a smoke to the balcony, to give each other few moments of privacy again.

Sometimes Uruha checks his phone, then he chooses to stay the night or leave immediately, and Ayame doesn’t ask. He doesn’t want to know anything.

He brings food, sex is awesome, there’s no need to talk.

They don’t want to talk. They don’t have the time, the opportunity to talk. They don’t give it to each other. Simple as fuck, because a mere fuck should stay only a fuck.

Until one evening Uruha comes, and instead of passionate kisses and feverish undressing, Ayame’s cheek and hair meet Uruha’s lips and the taller man embraces him in a hug and just simply holds him.

Ayame’s smile freezes on his lips.

They were supposed to be here only for sex. Physical thing. He knew what was going to come. Uruha will talk and Ayame will hold him and listen.

He didn’t want this to come.

 

***

 

Small fingers are toying with damp hair, smell of incenses fills the room, and Ayame wishes only to leave, to run away from the bed, but instead of it he doesn't move, he stays still, feeling Uruha's breath on the skin of his belly along with the texture of the plushy lips. Ayame admires Uruha's ability to fall asleep this easily after only one shot of tequila and an hour of lovemaking, because there are too many things bothering his mind right now.

One of them: since when he started to call a mere act of having sex 'lovemaking'?

 

***

 

Uruha leaves early that morning; he wrote a thank you message, packed whatever thing he might have brought here yesterday evening and leaves, hoping to find their apartment free of Aoi’s one-night-stand.

 

***

 

"Do you love him?" Anzi wonders aloud, when he catches Ayame texting for the tenth time that day. He's aware that Ayame has some relationship going on, but he asks nothing more. There's always someone. Ayame doesn't like to be alone. But he's unable to stay. It wasn't about faithfulness, but simply about staying. Anzi knows it very well.

"Love?" Ayame laughs in disbelief. "No! I like him, he's a great lay, but that's it. Nothing more."

"You two really aren't dating?" Anzi asks, not even surprised with the blond's reply.

"No," Ayame shakes his head.

"So what's that all-day-texting about? Did he miss you?"

Ayame puts his phone back in the pocket of his jacket.

"No."

 

***

 

Midnight breaks are longer than the midday ones and Uruha's grateful for that. Coffee in one hand and phone in other, he spends it alone in a small studio kitchen. At least he hoped for it before Kai comes there to make coffee for himself too.

"You and Aoi seem much happier lately. Figured out some things in that heaven of yours?"

Count on Kai to notice everything. One can't blame him. It was always his nature.

"We aren't dating each other anymore. I guess that's it."

Count on the midnight to make Uruha chatty.

But that surprises Kai a bit. He believed they made up.

"You two broke up?"

Uruha hesitates.

"We didn't really break up. We just don't sleep together anymore."

 

***

 

It was a mistake and Ayame knew it, but he couldn't help it, he just couldn't prevent it.

He had never spent this many nights with the same person. He’d never let anyone this deep, never let anyone stay this long. Of course, he’s had long-term friends, but never fuck-buddies.

But lately, he recognized the look in Uruha's eyes, those slightly opened, then quickly closed lips when cuddling after sex. The guitarist was not tired enough to fall asleep immediately, but spent enough for another round of shagging that night.

"So, how was your day? You seemed a bit too tired when you arrived."

Ayame never really knew how to keep his mouth shut in privacy. So he sees something in Uruha's eyes break, then guitarist cracks a smile, plushy lips kiss Ayame's for countless time and Uruha starts talking.

"Actually, my day was fine," he begins.

And there are words and it's hundreds of them, they are spilling and flowing from both of them. Ayame is replying and sharing and then Uruha falls asleep and guilt of actually making them friends instead of just casual but meaningless fuck, that guilt now claws at him.

 

***

 

"Kouyou," he hears and wonders, what made him follow that little blond devil with sinfully sexy legs and angelic blond hair to the café, then to the mall.

At least he's relieved they aren't recognized by any of their fans. He's more than relieved, that despite his height, his coat makes him look average and Ayame by his side looks more like his girlfriend wearing a nice pair of fitting skinny jeans than like a boy. They are having fun. Ayame repeats his name again and leads him somewhere else.

But above everything else he's relieved to be home alone with a takeaway dinner, trying not to care about that man Uruha saw kissing Aoi next to one shop.

Uruha is upset, very upset. The realization that the sight made him jealous was unexpected.

There's a bottle of beer in his hand and the sound of Luna Sea in radio. And he remembers the good he's been through with Aoi, before Aoi decided it's not doing any good to have this kind of relationship in a band and started sleeping around. Uruha remembers the evenings together, the promises of next time that he believed that will come, that he knew that will come. Ayame never gave him this. There was the addictive passion, the sweetness, anything but the feeling of something that may last.

He lights a cigarette, trying to burn away that realization with the cancer stick.

The thought of Ayame not really being here for him somehow hurts.

But not as much as what expects him after he hears the doorbell ring.

 

***

 

"I should apologize for everything..." Aoi begins.

Uruha shakes his head in disagreement.

"I should have seen this coming," he whispers and stops the other man from heartbreaking making speech.

Aoi sighs.

"I'm moving out," he says.

Their eyes meet after so long time. Years ago, there were passion and love and need, no there's just fatigue. They're both tired of what has become of their relationship.

"Have you found a suitable place?"

"You wouldn't probably like it much, but it's perfect for me."

"That's good. Do you need any help?"

For a moment Aoi hesitates.

"No. I'll manage."

"Good."

"Okay."

"..."

"So, see you tomorrow at the rehearsal?"

Uruha only nods.

"Well, then, bye."

He still can't reply.

It's annoying how much his eyes burn.

 

***

 

"We officially broke up today," Uruha announces silently the moment Ayame opens the door. He's leaning against the doorframe, clutching a half-empty bottle of vodka in his hand.

Ayame says nothing. He just wonders what should he reply, just like he always does. He holds Uruha but says nothing.

"But it was more like... after few weeks we met at home at night. Slept together. Then he just says he's moving his things back to his apartment. 'Love, not that you are bad in bed, but we just don't click anymore. Let’s try our luck somewhere else,' he told me. Or something like that."

Ayame holds him. He holds him and slowly drags him to bed, aware of the fact that there's no sex planned for tonight. Uruha starts sobbing repeating the thing Aoi had told him. Things Aoi had done for him in the past few years. Then he apologizes for it and continues on crying and he doesn't even realize Ayame has not said anything the whole time.

With every tear Ayame wipes from Uruha's face with his shirt he's more and more convinced he chose right not to really love any of his fuck-buddies. Because this is just completely wrong.

Drained, both psychically and physically, Uruha falls asleep soon that night, to wake the next day with head clean but for a little piece of guilt of coming here late at night drunk and crying on Ayame's shoulder, but that's going to be ok. It always is okay, with people like Uruha.

 

***

 

Kouyou wakes up to the smell of cigarettes and the sound of irregular clapping. Little blond angel is sitting at his piano, face away from Uruha, headphones almost as big as his head on, wearing a t-shirt from their last tour. Unaware of no more sleeping Uruha watching him Ayame keeps on playing. Then he stops for a while, to write down into scores with a pencil, take a drag from the cigarette burning in an ashtray on his left, then continues playing. Composing.

On his right side, there are many empty sheets of paper, which are waiting to be covered with notes.

No other sounds made. Not even sighs or hummed melodies.

Kouyou remembers those mornings with Aoi that looked exactly the same, only there wasn't a silenced keyboard, but they had loud guitars. Then the other realized the sleeper was awake and they've turned this into morning fun.

But the way Ayame was absorbed in his work was telling Uruha there's going to be a different end of this short story.

An unhappy one.

 

***

 

The water is hot, Ayame's body is pliable and Uruha can't imagine a better start of the day.

Then they wash and Uruha turns off the water and reaches for towels, unobservant of Ayame watching the last drops of water on the wall.

"What do you expect of this?" he asks, not bothering even to turn his head and face the guitarist who wraps him in a fluffy towel.

Uruha is taken aback by his question, trying to quickly come up as he steps out and dries himself.

"I don't know. Probably nothing," he shrugs. "Awesome sex. Why do you ask?"

Ayame turns around to face him with an innocent smile.

"Just wondering," he giggles.

Thus Uruha considers this irrelevant, just like many others of keyboardist’s moods.

 

***

 

Uruha watches Ayame walk around in his apartment wearing just stockings and oversized Iron Maiden t-shirt. He especially takes care to explore the skin of Ayame's exposed thighs. Some time ago he had worn similar things, but he never liked it. But just because he doesn't like to wear this it doesn't mean others are the same, or that he wouldn't love to take a look at someone dressed up this way.

In privacy, of course.

Those semi-naked younger bands onstage are sometimes a bit too annoying.

"I hope you're going to wear some longer shorts this evening," Uruha chuckles suddenly.

Ayame looks at him questioningly.

"Why?"

"These hickeys are quite visible."

 

***

 

Ayame loves to see the happiness in eyes of people around him. He loves it when people are happy. Not at all costs, but he likes it very much. Who doesn’t?

Seeing happiness in Uruha’s eyes one evening is lovely.

So he goes out for a smoke. Because knowing that Uruha’s happiness depends on him scares the hell out of him.


	3. III.

Yuu always considered Ayax the funny skilled cutie that's up for any fun. Unlike Yuu, Ayax never said a word or gave a hint to them that he likes to sleep with a different man every other night. Unless one knew what to look for, what questions to ask, what such replies may mean, or what is Ayame's favourite club, nobody would have guessed it.

Yuu had been trough few serious relationships, he had his share of anger or tears, but he didn't mind people knowing this about him (though Sono did mind a bit knowing about his boyfriends, being a little too conservative, a little too straight, but Yuu respected it).

When Ayame and Anzi joined them, they had to suffer lots of jokes, for there was an unmistakable chemistry between the two of them. But as nobody ever saw them more than hold onto each other when drunk, jokes stopped.

Despite Ayame's cuteness (which even Sono noticed!) Yuu always considered Ayame the strongest soul of them and admired him for his ability to deal with everything on his own without taking it too seriously. As time passed, Yuu has begun to think that no matter how Ayame shines with energy, he doesn't know anything but to keep his distance a bit. That was the nature of workaholics.

Ayame being upset today surprised him. So Yuu asked him whether he wants a company tonight at some bar. Being politely refused, he thought that tonight he'll go to some party.

That's why he was completely taken aback when he saw Ayame at his door with a six-pack of Heineken and swollen eyes.

"Hi. Are you busy? I know you usually go out on Saturday nights, but I have a beer."

What could Yuu do, but let him in?

 

***

 

There's beer and cigarettes and chips and Yuu thinks it's the best time to actually start talking.

Ayame's hair's slightly messy and he cuddles a cushion on Yuu's couch.

"So, what brings you here?" Yuu asks.

Ayame is silent for a moment, then he sighs.

"I thought about random-fuck in some club, then pity fuck with some friend, but I guess a mere company will do great. How are you doing, Yuu?"

Ayame's choice of words makes Yuu chuckle with amusement.

"Usual fuck is out of Tokyo, random fuck is too boring, and I have a blond cutie in my apartment on my couch. I'm happy with my life," he replies cheerily.

Ayame's chocolate eyes watch Yuu sip his beer.

"What was the rule? Never fuck your bandmate?"

The drummer chokes on his drink.

 

***

 

"Dear God, Ayame, I bottom but what you do... Why haven't we fucked before?"

"I don't know," Ayame replies and stretches on the bed.

"So you say, that your fuck-buddy let go of you?"

"Yes, he did."

"And you did this with him?"

Ayame smiles at Yuu almost innocently, then takes off the last piece of clothing he has - Yuu's shirt.

"You know, I had plenty of time to do with him even more."

 

***

 

They meet in studio hours later. Sono is upset with Yuu’s delay. Yo’s stretching his arms and spin, and Anzi is styling his hair.

Some things are not meant to last for too long, Ayame thinks, when everything settles into a new-old-new rhythm and they start playing.

It was time to move the fuck on.


End file.
